Shadow Land
by TheElleth
Summary: Lord of the rings AU - After the darkness of Mirkwood reaches it peak; completely encompassing the land and causing more that it's fair amount of grief, Legolas grows tired of hiding in the shadows. But upon reaching Minis Tirith, he realizes that Aragorn is not who he used to be, and Legolas may already be too late... (rating may change)


**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. We've been over this. How do you keep forgetting this?**

**I suck a summaries.**  
**I suck at writing in general.**  
**But if you want to give my work a read then please do, and please be sure to comment (With advice if you want ((I need it))) And bookmark/kudos if you think it worthy ^-^**

**If slash isn't your cup of tea then I wouldn't read if I were you, (but tbh you don't know what you're missing out on.)**  
**The lyrics at the beginning are from 'Kings and Queens' by 30 seconds to mars. (Yes I was cheesy and used song lyrics to introduce my fic I'm sorry)**

_Into the night, desperate and broken,_

_The sound of a fight, father has spoken,_

_We were the kings and queens of promise, we were the victims of ourselves,_

_Maybe the children of a lesser god, between heaven and hell_

_Heaven and Hell…_

Legolas felt the breath leave his body as the pressure on his hand lessened suddenly, unwilling to look up and face the tragedy that he knew to be before him, he simply stared at the red stained sheets he knelt beside. Although he still had not begun to move, Legolas knew exactly what had happened, and it brought tears unbidden to his tired eyes, spilling forward, the hot liquid slid its way down his cheeks, clearing a path in the dirt and blood currently covering a fair part of his pale, sunken face.

Finally managing to reign in his grief, for now, the prince looked up at the figure on the healing room bed in front of him. Cuts marred most of the Elf's body that was visible, but they weren't bleeding any more, there was a particularly large gash on his forehead, this was the main cause of the dried blood that plastered the dead Elf's face and matted his silken blonde hair. But this was not the fatal wound, obscured by a bandage on the patient's mid-section there lay a brutal stab wound, too deep for the healers to do much about, that was what they had told Legolas anyway. "All we can do now is make him comfortable" they had said "He probably won't last the night" They had been correct about that, "I'm sorry".

Legolas was sorry as well. He had tried; He had fought so very hard and ran so very fast. But he had not been fast enough. Once again one of the most important beings in his life had been killed because Legolas had not been enough. His Father. Why did it have to be his Father?

On the table next to the prone figure there lay a crown, woven out of twigs and berries, there was a slight blood splatter on several of the leaves but it went un-noticed for the most part.

Picking up the delicate crown, Legolas turned it slightly in his grip, staring at it in wonder and disbelief, it was his. _It was his_. But yet he was not even sure that he wanted it. He had never thought that he would grow to wear this crown, to sit on the beautifully crafted throne in the main hall of Mirkwood. Elves were immortal, they lived forever, why would he have to worry about becoming king? Just the innocent thoughts of an Elfling, he supposed, though they had never really left him.

But he had to do this, Mirkwood's people, _his _people needed him, now more than ever, and he could not disappoint them. He would protect them until the very end. He had promised.

Glancing nervously around as if he was doing something that he should not, Legolas gently lifted the crown to rest upon his head, carefully threading a few strands of tattered blonde hair in-between and around the intricate designs to keep it securely on his head.

Standing shakily he leant once more over the dead body of his father, lightly kissing the elder's forehead, before tugging a stained blanket up to cover the lifeless face for Legolas could no longer bare to look at it. He could not give in to his grief. His people needed him.

Turning as swiftly as he could, Legolas walked to the large wooden doors of the healing ward, taking a deep breath he pressed on the ancient oak, opening the doors to the hallway beyond. Two guards, several healers, and countless other citizens of Mirkwood stood huddled outside the doors to the healing chambers, all anxiously awaiting news of their monarch. However as Legolas stepped out before them, every eye turned to him. The guards and healers alike gave Legolas a knowing look, one of pity which he did not particularly desire right now. The citizens however were slightly less aware, Elleths stared at him, begging with their eyes for news of Thranduil, Elflings stared in awe at him from behind the hems of their mothers dresses that they clutched, most of the male Elves avoided his eyes, finding the floor more interesting.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Legolas looked straight ahead of him.

" The king is dead" His voice sounded choked to him, small, how was he supposed to command an entire realm like this?

The guards besides him bowed graciously before him, they too, ignoring their grief for the time being. Many of the citizens however, began to weep, but they still joined their kin in bowing to the bewildered Legolas.

Then as if it had been planned, the elves all spoke as a whole, keeping their heads lowered in respect they all together chorused, "Long live the king"

Trying to keep himself in check, Legolas gave his own small bow to his people, dismissing them. Then, as quickly as he possibly could in his state, he walked to his own chambers. The corridors were lit with candles, setting a sort of unsettling atmosphere, not that Legolas really noticed, he just kept walking, had the walk to his room always been this long?

Finally reaching his door, Legolas quickly hurried inside, slamming his door shut behind him, the now-king let his grief take over, _just for a while_, he told himself, knowing that he could not give his grief reign enough to take his life. His life was his own no longer and he knew it. Sliding his back down the door he found himself kneeling pitifully on the floor, weeping like a maid.

As his hands clutched blindly at the carpet beneath him, the pain in his chest growing so much that it felt as if it was him who had been stabbed repeatedly, Legolas let two short phrases fall brokenly from his chaffed lips.

"The King is dead…long live the king"

_The King is dead._

_Long live the king. _

**_AN: I tried okay. I'm sorry I'm such an untalented writer and that I never update but I love every single one of you who actually reads my stuff. Please review. If you want. Thank you ^-^_**


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